They had the complexion of wealth, that white complexion that is heightened by the pallor of porcelain, the sheen of satin, the luster of fine furniture, and is kept in perfect condition by a moderate diet of exquisite foods. Those who were beginning to age seemed youthful, while those who were young had a certain look of maturity. Their faces wore that placid expression which comes from the daily gratification of the passions; and beneath their polished manners one could sense the special brutality that comes from half-easy triumphs which test one’s strength and flatter one’s vanity.

We drove from Provincetown yesterday, leaving the pretty streets, the clapboard houses and verdant gardens to Bear Week. Thousands of large, hairy shouldered men smiling and engaging not scowling or isolating like the circuit boys who infested the town two weeks previously during the 4th July celebration.

The past six weeks in Provincetown were, on the whole, a great deal of fun. I met a huge assortment of extraordinary and not so extraordinary people. I saw people I knew from LA and NYC. I met men and women from DC, Nashville and Florida. Mostly enjoying their week off, some of them… not so much. Americans get so few vacations.

The A gays who live in Provincetown were kind and considerate. They have beautiful homes and make them readily available to those they trust.

The extraordinary designer Ken Fulk has restored a perfect gem of a house in The East End where I was privileged to spend the 4th July and then see photographed by famed society doyenne Douglas Friedman for Elle Decor. Editor Robert Ruffino scampering around arranging flowers wearing his Florentine winkle pickers.

The walls are the color of raspberry mousse, the windows frames and architrave painted chocolate-brown.

My birthday dinner: an anonymous donor very kindly paid for.

I really didn’t know anyone very well at my party, except Michael Goff and Michael Cunningham. So when it came to making my speech, after the candle was snuffed, I said: “I don’t know any of you at all… but this delightful group of strangers came together to celebrate the birthday of another stranger… and with such magnanimity it brings tears to my eyes.”

The following day I told someone from the party that I had no intention of making friends with him beyond Provincetown because our friendship could only flourish on the Cape. He looked a little perplexed but one has to be realistic. When we return to the city a tsunami of gay gossip will drown the truth and ones expectations will be dashed.

The utterly adorable Michael Cunningham (who I had known previously through Amelia Rizo) made a necklace for my birthday. We sat in his exquisitely decorated water front home, surrounded by magnificent art, picking out trinkets for a silver chain. I had a moment of unrestrained excitement as I realized that a Pulitzer Prize winning author, writer of The Hours, was making me a birthday present with his bare hands. He continued, throughout my stay, to delight and engage. We discussed Emma Bovary. We… of a certain age, share the same literary starting blocks… but he won the race.

We talked about Neil Bartlett‘s beautiful book Who Was That Man. Required reading for any young gay.

There were many occasions these past weeks when I noticed how relaxed I was, at peace, living in my own body, inhabiting the life I have rather than the life I thought I wanted. There were, of course, other occasions when a face from the past popped into view and caused momentary consternation. The vile, blond publicist/image consultant, owner of Black Frame Brian Phillips who, wether he likes it or not, is in my social orbit but never bothers to be cordial. Or the ex boyfriend Chris Shipman who cycled around town with his thin calves and sad eyes. I ignored the ex and engaged with fey Brian Phillips who sat in his chair as I forcefully reminded him what an evil cunt he can be and how he seems unable to keep and love another man due to his crippling narcissism.

I met Jim Lande, producer of the hit burlesque/freak show Audition and talked about his flawed film: Love is Strange directed by Ira Sachs. Shown at The Provincetown Film Festival this beautifully shot and directed film promises so much but fails to deliver… relying on coincidence and melodrama. The film lacks any real emotion. Two old gay married men separated by circumstance and bad choices. Could have been brilliant but… wasn’t.

I kept away from the drag shows and the theatrical events but I saw Ryan Landry‘s inventive and surreal Pantomime: Snow White and The Seven Bottoms which reminded me of Charles Ludlam. Go see this if you can.

I spent a great deal of time chatting with the adorable Andrew Sullivan and his husband Aaron Tone. The gays, on the whole, are openly hostile to Andrew, they accuse him of being a ‘traitor to the gays’ because he aggressively posits an alternative view. Our politics couldn’t be more different yet we agreed about so much, mainly our loathing of powerful lobby groups like AIPAC, GLAAD and the HRC. I found him to be gracious and engaging.

Andrew told fascinating stories about his private dinners with President Obama, his short-lived stay in NYC, the history of his three-legged dog. We sat outside The Wired Puppy coffee shop on Commercial Street where I witnessed at first hand the disdain the gays show him and the delight straight people have… in equal measure.

The white gays may never understand his POV because by now they think they rule the world.

I spent time with Michael Goff and Andy Towle in town to promote their site towleroad.com, we greeted the first of the bears at the dock with 20 drag Goldilocks who boasted that they had eaten all the porridge. We sat in their charming house and ate whatever they had in their fridge. We took my friend Caroline Reid to a Bear-B-Q, Caroline is cult performer PamAnn. We took her to more bear events where she was the only woman. Her fans adore her.

And that was that. There were other amusing people to play with who I haven’t mentioned. There were less amusing people who I hope I never see again.

Leon drove me and the art to LAX. The little dog loves his traveling bag and climbed into it willingly.

The flight arrived 55 minutes early at JFK. 5am. I was knackered. We dragged the art onto a trolley and into a cab then dropped it off at Phillips. I stayed there for an hour drinking coffee and ate a pain au chocolat. I sat on my own reading The Times waiting for Dan to wake up so I could drag my sorry ass over to the East Village. Finally we just walked from 9th Ave. It was so GOOD to be back in NYC…after the operation I will be here full-time.

The Little Dog was determined to explore Tompkins Square Park so I acquiesced and he got his wish and stared at squirrels for an hour until I just had to go home and rest.

By 10 I dropped off art at the auctioneer. Very cute lighting man to gawp at prepping a fashion week party. The whole area around Meat Packing ALIVE with fashion week events. Bumped into my friend Liz who invited me to Mulberry party.

Took cab back home and slept until 3 when I met the first of my Manhunt dates. Date 1. Nice guy, did not misrepresented himself in any way. Charming. If I had been JB I would have had sex with him but I am not JB so we had coffee and went for a long walk around the East Village. Not much eye contact but I think that might have been my fault.

At 6ish I went home and took more of a nap. Dan arrived at 7.30 and we had dinner at Westville where I saw you know who’s ex. That was rather fascinating. We were obviously aware of each other but were not going to swap war stories any time soon.

Walked to Mulberry party where I had a blast being told how good I looked by old friends. I have lost a lot of weight..mainly because I have been so unhappy-but this seems to have paid off!

Saw Preston and snuggled with him. He’s an ex of mine from LA.

Walked home, ate frozen yogurt. Cute man stopped me in the street and made me feel even better about myself.

This morning I had manhunt date number 2 with very sweet Brazilian man who said that I come off as the sort of bloke who has a very active sex life. HAHAHAHA. That’s FUNNY! I told him my miserable fuck count (12 people) and he was shocked.

JB has probably had 12 fucks in one week. More.

Anyway, everyone I am meeting could be a friend…maybe more but to tell you the truth I am just not feeling it. After feeling so connected with JB and so loving and SO intellectually compatible…I don’t know if I will ever feel that again for anyone.

East 10th St, New York City 2010 again. The little dog and I traversed the city (east/west) three times today. It makes us very happy. My feet hurt. The little dog is curled up, fast asleep, beside me. I flew out of LAX yesterday afternoon, arrived late at JFK and miserably stayed at the JFK Comfort Inn as amazingly could not find a single room in any hotel near to where I usually stay in NYC, in fact, there wasn’t a room anywhere in Manhattan less than $1, 800 a night.

The Comfort Inn is a bit of a misnomer as it isn’t very comfortable nor is it ’in’. My room stank of old cigarettes and feet. Even the little dog was suspicious of the bed and refused to get under the covers. There was a $250 fine for smuggling animals into the rooms apparently.

Thank God we didn’t know.

When I arrived I was warned not to leave the hotel because it was dangerous. Hmmm.

“Is this the hood?” I asked innocently.

All week I received evocative, beautiful letters from Italy, descriptive, sexy and exciting. I await his return with delicious anticipation. I will be back in LA ready to be there fully for him.

It delights me! Everyday I get his beautiful loving emails. All this comfort and joy from a man who loves me and is not ashamed to say the words: I LOVE YOU. He is sure to tell me that he loves me, to make sure that I understand what this means. That it means something.

I came to NYC to help celebrate the birthday of a man who said he didn’t have anything to do. Now, apparently, he is sick and unable to leave his house so it looks like I am in NYC spending money needlessly. Call me foolish, call me an idiot tell me that I shouldn’t have made the effort! Remind me once again; wagging your fat pink finger at me ‘what did you expect?’.

The following morning I took the subway from The Comfort Inn into the West Village where I met J&J for lunch. It seems that VH1 is very well watched by the residents of Queens as once on the Subway I was stared at, talked about and asked for autographs. Once up on the Soho House roof we ate an emotional lunch due to my realizing that if my friend had known he was sick the morning I flew here why didn’t he just let me know?

So, there I am on the roof of Soho House telling my best friends that I am a fucking idiot and hating myself more than any one of you could ever hate me.

I was pleased to have two of my closest friends in town. I couldn’t actually eat my lunch because I was so ‘emotional’ and a ‘drama queen’. I am so sick of being treated like an idiot by a man who obviously has no respect for me and considers me some kind of sappy pushover.

Oh fuck it. I can’t be bothered to work it out. Anyway, he got what he wanted-I am now disengaged at a much deeper level than I was before. Totally. It is hard not to feel like I have been used. Needless to say my gesture of friendly goodwill has massively backfired. Some things are just not meant to be.

That all said of course, I am happy to be home in NYC and immediately lose weight pounding the streets. It is wonderful to be back in the city. Wonderful to have all those faces to gaze, everyone is so handsome. Windows to stare into, the anticipation of rain, city life at my fingertips.

The little dog loves NYC and we were up at 5.30am in Tompkins Square Park where we saw a feral cat and NO RATS. He fixated on squirrels and I on the vagaries of this mad and exotic city.